Graphic Design and the Next Big ThingBy Rudy VanderLans
This article was first published in 1996 in
Emigre 39.
A few months back Louise Sandhaus contacted me to see
if I was interested in creating an issue of Emigre that would document 101: The
Future of Design in the Context of Computer-Based Media, a symposium she had organized at the Jan van Eyck Academy in
Holland. The symposium explored questions about what future graphic
designers are being educated for and what the role of the designer will be.
To encourage me to publish this information, Louise assured me that people
were probably "chomping at the bit for Emigre to introduce this material in some intelligent and
interesting way."
While ambivalent about the value of such crystal ball
events, what intrigued me about this request was how Emigre continues to be regarded as
the place where the Next Big Thing, for lack of a better term, is not only
regularly covered but also expected to be covered. The many disgruntled
letters about our recent shift in editorial policy away from such popular
phenomena underline this fact.
This "feeding the trout" as one letter
writer put it, the act of somehow keeping our readers abreast of trends, is
an impossible task. Having been privy to the making of one trend in no way
prepares one to recognize the harbingers of the next. I'm unsure
whether this is because the Next Big Thing is simply a product of
hindsight, or because it is human nature to regard ground-breaking work as
the final solution, nullifying the possibility of the next Next Big Thing.
The latter is particularly tempting to believe when you've had your
moment in the sun while riding the Next Big Thing wave, but piques the
younger generations who are eager to have their own experiences of
experimentation and discovery.
Still, if you think about it, after hundreds of years
of formal, typographic experimentation on the page, you would assume that
we must at some point have exhausted the possibilities. Someone will come
around, though, and disprove this, I'm sure. Tibor Kalman thinks
otherwise when he states in Eye that "People haven't started fucking with the
printed page in a serious way yet..." Picturing what has passed
before us, however, I cannot for the life of me think of what it could be
that hasn't already been done. Actually, one could argue we reached
that saturation point quite some time ago. Anything in print that appears
new today can be considered a variation on age old themes. Purely from a
formal point of view, that Layered Thing was fairly well explored by Piet
Swart and Wolfgang Weingart. That Anti-Mastery Thing was pretty well
exhausted by Fluxus and Punk, that Deconstructivist Thing was long ago
mastered by just about everybody from Apollinaire to Edward Fella and that
Illegible Thing was difficult to top after Victor Moscoso and Wes Wilson
were done battling over who could make the reader more cross-eyed. The only
significant contribution introduced to graphic design in the last 10 years
or so, as Laurie Haycock Makela once pointed out, might have less to do
with anything visual than with how design is produced and who it is produced by.
While the idea of the Next Big Thing is ludicrous to
some, it's obvious that many hunger for it. Having documented, for a
while at least, one such Next Big Thing, our magazine continues to receive
inquiries from journalists and critics alike curious what the next Next Big
Thing might be and where to find all the young energetic designers doing
"crazy new things." You can smell the desperation - with
the absence of the Next Big Thing, what do they write about?
But let's imagine for a second that there will be
no Next Big Thing in design. At least not for a while. Nothing to catch the
attention of the design press, to sweep all the design awards, to receive
all the lecture invitations, to function as a source of inspiration and
discussion for all. Here's an idea to fill that void; we can try our
hand at judging design by its content, by the ideas and messages that it
attempts to communicate. Imagine design competitions picking winners based
solely on the value of what they communicate, instead of how they
communicate. The moral, ethical and political biases of the judges would
come to the fore, for sure, but no more or less than the formal biases of
judges who rule competitions now. Design would be discussed only as it
affects the message. For instance, a submission could be considered of
great public value but would not win an award simply because the design,
although formally stunning, obscured the message. What would the AIGA
annual look like then?
Of course it will never happen, because designers are
visual types who have a tendency to either obsessively reduce or overly
complicate the ideas of their clients, often without much concern for what
is actually communicated. It is not that designers are insensitive or
disinterested in the social and cultural functions of the messages they
give form to; it's just that they don't always see the
necessity (or have the opportunity) to integrate their personal ideologies
into their professional work. They enjoy giving form to ideas. If designers
were made of ideas, they'd be their own clients.
The World Wide Web is often hailed as the Next Big
Thing in graphic design, but it's a problematic environment for
graphic designers. One problem is that it has limited graphic
possibilities. The coarse resolution of the computer screen, the inability
to fix layouts and typefaces, and the overpowering presence of the
browser's interface all restrict the designer's ability to
impart a specific visual character to a Web site. These also restrict the
designers' ability to leave their signature imprint, which is even
more problematic, since for many designers this is the single most
important asset of how they market themselves. With the absence of the
stylistic choices usually available in print, many designers will refrain
from getting involved, while others, by hook or by crook, will try and bend
the medium to fit their personal preferences for typographic expression and
style. That's why so many Web sites look like what designers do in
print but applied to the screen.
If there were ever an opportunity for graphic design to
be more involved with content, the World Wide Web is it. With the computer
functioning as the great visual equalizer, content instead of form is what
ultimately may come to differentiate and qualify Web sites. However,
according to my own assessment regarding the value placed on content within
graphic design, judging a Web site on the strength of its content will not
soon gain popularity, at least not within the narrow world of graphic
design. Unless, of course, you expand the notion of what graphic design is.
Which brings me back to Louise Sandhaus's 101 symposium and the future of graphic design.
Whether or not designers will be able to make the
transition from print to screen and whether or not the technology will ever
deliver on the promise of seamless multimedia for everybody remains to be
seen. But as we ponder the question of how graphic designers will cope with
the seemingly inevitable changes ahead, we should not lose sight of what
we're trying to accomplish. The purpose of what we do as designers
will remain fairly basic: to communicate as effectively as we can those
messages and ideas that we most care about. Having the option to do this
differently and with more pomp and circumstance than before raises
interesting questions not just regarding how but also why.
Writer Paul Roberts's observation that "The
irony of the information revolution is that consumers neither like nor
expect long texts on their computer screens" suggests a radical shift
in people's reading habits. This shift has long been contemplated by
designers and critics alike concerned with how to best address the reading
habits of future generations raised on MTV and video games in an era of
increasing information overload. This is problematic, however, since I
can't help but wonder why, as graphic designers, we should concern
ourselves with pleasing readers suffering from attention deficiency
disorder. How are we certain that by catering to their diminishing interest
in linear reading and by relying on the power of images and sound bites as
an alternative, that we actually increase such notions as comprehension and
cognition?
As a result of my own interest and experiments
regarding how to best aid the reader, I've become increasingly
unconvinced about the power of images to tell stories and the value of
open-ended narratives. Where to apply such methods is crucial.
When viewing Elliott Earls's entertaining
enhanced CD, Throwing Apples at the Sun, I enjoy the fact that I, the reader, can construct my own
meaning from the seemingly disparate elements of image, sound and text. It
is obviously the very purpose of this project. When reading an essay, on
the other hand, I crave for knowing what the author means so that I can
learn and respond and ask specific questions if necessary.
When Louise Sandhaus, in
Emigre 36, practices what she
preaches and designs her essay "Click" in a manner that aspires
to the non-linear, multi-level environment of the World Wide Web or CD
ROMs, the result is a dynamic orchestration of text and images that
subverts the conventional make-up of the page. Whether it functions as
intended depends on who you ask. As a designer I'm drawn in by the
curious visual presentation, but as a reader I'm unsure about
sequence and often lose the thread of the writing due to the many
distractions and options vying for my attention - not unlike when
I'm surfing the World Wide Web or scanning a CD ROM.
In
Emigre 37 both designer Stephen Farrell and writer Steve Tomasula make
eloquent arguments to support the notion of using animated texts and images
to subserve reading and enrich meaning. Theoretically it holds water and I
want to believe they are right because their work is so shockingly
beautiful. But when I try to actually read their short story TOC, the experience is not as
smooth as I had hoped. The story is layed out with distinct visual
gestures, but I'm unclear how to read them or what the authors mean.
I'm uncertain how to fill in the gaps or make the connections. Is it
my fault, as a reader, that I don't understand? Or is it the
authors'? Or does it matter at all?
In Emigre we have published many such theories and experiments, but
their applicability in the real world, besides functioning as the Next Big
Thing, has proved to be limited. This is exemplified by designers such as
Katherine McCoy, Jeffery Keedy, Ellen Lupton and J. Abbott Miller, who are
often presented as the key protagonists and apologists for the new theories
that have inspired recent design trends, but who in reality create designs
that apply only to a minimal degree the theories that so outrage its
critics.
Shooting holes in the new theories, of course, is easy,
since they are usually general in scope and allow for different levels of
interpretation, depending on the job at hand. McCoy et al demonstrate time and again
that they are extremely skillful at implementing their theories. There are
few books out on the market that more brilliantly combine text and image
and in the process truly aid reading and extend meaning, than the books
created by these designers. And the books look far more traditional than
the theories that inspired them.
Instead of nipping the theories in the bud, the critics
should try their hand at how these ideas trickle down to the mainstream and
are applied indiscriminately and irresponsibly. The opening essay in David
Carson's book The End of Print would be a good place to start. To justify his
typographic aerobics on the page, Carson often refers to the changing
reading habits of the audience and borrows from the theory that if you
engage the readers and make them work at decoding the text, they will
better remember what they read. Granted, it did take me quite a bit of work
to figure out that the sentences in the essay needed to be read from bottom
to top. But what I end up remembering about the essay is not so much what I
read, but how difficult it was to read it at all. This type of work, as
Andrew Blauvelt suggests, has less to do with redefining the notion of
readability or literacy than with creating product differentiation and
establishing the expressive personal style of the designer.
But if designers have a tendency to apply their
signature styles willy nilly to whatever commissions come down the pike,
design critics often tend to paint with a rather broad brush to establish
their holier-than-thou agendas regarding the social responsibility of the
designer, the public good, fellow readers and other such stuff. The new
theories, as some critics claim, have no interest in such noble causes.
However, when voicing their objections regarding the new theories and the
work it has spawned, the critics conveniently steer clear of addressing
specific designs, and instead use bodies of work such as Rick
Poynor's anthology Typography Now: The
Next Wave. These anthologies present
anything but a unified collection of work or theory. They consist, for the
most part, of posters, covers and other commercial, experimental and
student projects especially short on text, big on image, and particularly
suited for reproduction in small format. Here too, besides functioning as
the Next Big Thing (as the book's title claims), the work can hardly
be considered as serious research addressing the needs of future
communication modes. But for the critics, who rarely judge designs within
their specific context, they serve perfectly in pointing out all that is
wrong with today's empty, self-centered designerism. This is usually
followed by bizarre acts of overextension leading to conclusions that the
new theories are not concerned with society's more mundane yet
invaluable means of communication such as novels, educational texts,
timetables, instructional manuals, application forms, etc.
If the new theories are not much concerned with these,
it is because they acknowledge that the old theory provides most of the
answers for these applications. What the new theories are concerned with is
that the old theory does not properly address the new media and the
multiplicitous environments and audiences that graphic design now both
serves and is comprised of. Which brings me back to the Next Big Thing.
If the new theories have generated disappointing
results concerning conventional print design, than the old theory has shown
little ability to adapt to the new environments of electronic publishing.
For instance, if issues of legibility are a social concern, why then have
our most respected typographers largely ignored issues of typographic
excellence on the computer screen? As we're entering the information
age, which will most likely play itself out on low resolution monitors, you
can either ignore what is going on around you and then later complain about
the irresponsible behavior of today's designer and the general
downfall of literacy and all that, or you can help provide a solution. For
the graphic adventurers among us, this probably means having to abandon
certain personal expressive preferences, and for our most learned
typographers, it might mean adapting sophisticated typographic traditions
to fit the still primitive world of electronic publishing. Somehow this
combined knowledge must be able to generate a visual language capable of
being both legible and engaging.
At Emigre, for the short term at least, as we're trying to deal with
the new technologies that surround us, we see more use for the teachings of
the young Jan Tschichold than the writings of, let's say, Frances
Butler. While we're being primed for sensory overload, the reality of
electronic publishing still consists of system crashes, tedious downloading
problems, links gone "dead," incompatibility and the many
stylistic restrictions described earlier. The simplicity and social
concerns of Tschichold's ideals, that "communication must
appear in the briefest, simplest, most urgent form," as outlined in
the text Elementare Typographie, are far more practical than the multi-level, interactive,
hypertextual and audiovisual forms of communication that, according to
Butler, will better match the "fluid, additive, non-syntactic, and
above all, extremely sophisticated thought process that are the natural
birthright of all humans."
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A Selection of Essays from Emigre Magazine
Ambition/Fear
By Zuzana Licko and Rudy VanderLans. Published in Emigre 11.
Neomania
By Anne Burdick. Published in Emigre 24.
Fallout
By Rudy VanderLans. Published in Emigre 30.
An Interview with Steven Heller
By Michael Dooley. Published in Emigre 30.
An Interview with David Shields
By Michael Dooley. Published in Emigre 30.
An Interview with Edward Fella
By Michael Dooley. Published in Emigre 30.
An Interview with Mr. Keedy
By Michael Dooley. Published in Emigre 30.
In and Around: Cultures of Design and the Design of Cultures
Part I
By Andrew Blauvelt. Published in Emigre 32.
Discovery by Design
By Zuzana Licko. Published in Emigre 32.
In and Around: Cultures of Design and the Design of Cultures
Part II
By Andrew Blauvelt. Published in Emigre 33.
An Interview with Rick Poynor
By Mr. Keedy. Published in Emigre 33.
Radical Commodities
By Rudy VanderLans. Published in Emigre 34.
Copping an Attitude
By Rudy VanderLans. Published in Emigre 38.
Graphic Design and the Next Big Thing
By Rudy VanderLans. Published in Emigre 39.
That was then, and this is now: but what is next?
By Lorraine Wild. Published in Emigre 39.
Graphic Design in the Postmodern Era
By Mr. Keedy. Published in Emigre 47.
Skilling Saws and Absorbent Catalogues
By Kenneth FitzGerald. Published in Emigre 48.
First Things First Revisited
By Rick Poynor. Published in Emigre 51.
First Things First Manifesto 2000
Various authors. Published in Emigre 51.
Saving Advertising
By Jelly Helm. Published in Emigre 53.
The Emigre Legacy
By Rudy VanderLans. Published in Emigre 56.
Sustainable Consumerism
By Chris Riley. Published in Emigre 59.
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